Of bridges and bourbon
by giuli miadi black
Summary: "Before I knew it, I'd become a CEO on my own right, and I was meeting my dad monthly, on my own volition, to discuss business strategies and future acquisitions, and... I was loving every second of it." (Or, how Mitchum and Logan finally managed to mend their relationship.) / A prequel of sorts for Champagne and Salmon Puffs, set during their time apart.


**Of bridges and bourbon**

 **Chapter 1**

 _June 2009_

"I'm afraid I don't have any Macallan," Mitchum said, his eyes scanning the contents of his liquor cabinet in the search for a lost bottle of his son's favourite scotch. "If I'd known you were arriving tonight, maybe I could have-"

"It's fine," Logan replied, sitting on one of the armchairs near the fireplace. "I'll just have a bourbon."

Mitchum glanced at his son, his impenetrable expression barely giving way to a mix of surprise and curiosity. Logan was the kind of man who'd choose a glass of the shittiest scotch over a bottle of the finest bourbon, and he almost wanted to ask what had prompted such an unexpected choice.

He wouldn't; of course. Huntzberger men don't ask those questions.

He picked up a bottle of Maker's Mark (not his favourite, by far, but maybe Logan wouldn't hate it as much) and two rocks glasses and sat on the armchair that faced his son's. They both knew the ritual by heart, and no prompting was necessary before Logan took the bottle and poured them both a double shot of Bourbon – neat – while Mitchum busied himself with a cigar.

The silence stretched on for a few more minutes, both men lost in their own thoughts – then again, that was nothing new. It wasn't like they cherished each other's company, or that they had all that much in common, for that matter. For them, the after-dinner drinks were just a socially acceptable excuse to hide away from whatever bullshit was going on outside of Mitchum's study, and to get a few minutes of inner peace in that godforsaken house.

Talking would just ruin everything. Really.

That night, though, Logan seemed to be in the mood to break the rules.

"I think the magazine where I work is shutting down."

Mitchum looked at him, his startled expression looking almost comical. It took him a few seconds to process what his son had just said, and when he finally managed to speak, the first words out of his mouth were, "Is that so?"

Logan let out a dejected sigh, sipping at his drink and looking away. He didn't know what had possessed him; he'd always known that trying to talk to his dad was pointless. Mitchum had never listened to him, and he had no reason to start now.

Still, before he knew what he was doing, he heard himself saying, "They've been firing a lot of people, you know." He looked at his father again, and the anguish in his eyes made Mitchum wonder if he knew just how transparent he was. "And not just reporters; last week they fired two editors."

Mitchum studied his face for a moment, trying to figure out what he could possibly want. In twenty-seven years, Logan had never provided him with random information about his life – everything he'd ever shared had a purpose, a goal, a hidden meaning, and Mitchum doubted this would be any different.

"Do you need a job, son?"

It was all Logan could do not to roll his eyes. Of course, his dad would assume the worst; of course, he'd be just waiting for him to fail, just so he could be lured back into the family company.

"I was actually wondering if you've heard anything."

"About...?"

"Buying. Selling." He took a deep breath, bracing himself for Mitchum's reaction to his next statement. "If they're planning on selling it, maybe I could-"

"Buy it?" Mitchum offered. Much to Logan's surprise, there was barely a hint of judgement in his tone – in fact, he almost sounded intrigued.

"Well, yes." He paused, waiting for a wave of questions that never came. "I know this sounds crazy and all, but I think... There's a lot of wasted potential there, you know, and maybe with the right leader it could still be profitable."

"The right leader being you, of course," Mitchum interjected, the scepticism in his voice filling Logan with self-doubt. Talking to his father always ended with him feeling inferior and unimportant, like he was still a five-year-old who could only get his dad's attention through throwing tantrums and acting out.

"Of course," he replied, his tone loaded with the confidence he'd spent years learning to fake.

Mitchum nodded in acknowledgement, and for the first time ever, he seemed to accept Logan's crazy stupid idea without a word in protest – which could be either an accomplishment or a sign that he'd officially given up.

"Tell you what," Mitchum finally said, after what felt like a lifetime. "Meet me in my office tomorrow at ten, and we can discuss how you plan to bring a dead horse back to life."

* * *

 **A/N:** As it turn out, I'm alive. And as per usual, I'm returning from the ashes with a different story - but hey, at least this one is a companion to Champagne and Salmon Puffs!

This is a story that literally no one has asked for (really, even AO3 doesn't seem to have anything about Logan's relationship with his dad), but the muses wouldn't stop nagging at me until I wrote it. I know what should happen for the next three chapters or so - so if you're interested in reading those, let me know.


End file.
